


Transmutations

by khasael



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alchemist Draco Malfoy, Alchemy, Auror Harry Potter, Burglary, Case Fic, H/D Pottermore Fair 2015, HP: EWE, M/M, Malfoy Manor, Mystery, Philosopher's Stone, Post-Hogwarts, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:30:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4873408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khasael/pseuds/khasael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Transmutation (n.): the action of changing or the state of being changed into another form; the supposed alchemical process of changing base metals into gold.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Harry needs help with his current Auror case, and it looks as if only Draco Malfoy can provide it. The Draco that Harry knew at school would never have agreed to do so... but maybe he's changed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transmutations

**Author's Note:**

> This took a couple of sharp left turns away from the original idea, but I tried to stay true enough to the prompt and requests. I owe worlds of thanks to UniquePOV and Groolover for their encouragement and help on multiple versions of this fic, and to the mods for their patience and willingness to run this fest.
> 
> For [Prompt #14](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1oKxFrF86d2c3FuVesbbG1NW8mLM0kphzpOwJLy225kY/edit).

After the week he'd been having, Harry was counting the minutes until he could make his escape from work to blissful freedom. Time had been creeping by all evening, and Harry would swear it was doing so just to torture him. Now that he didn't have Ron to distract him in the department's less busy periods, idle moments were something near torture. It didn't help that there were a handful of other Aurors that absolutely grated on Harry's last nerves, as if they did it for fun.

He was seven minutes away from escape, his eyes trained on the clock on the furthest wall while the second hand ticked by almost criminally slowly, when a case file dropped into his lap. "New assignment for you."

Harry tried his best not to make a face. Judging from Chadwick's expression, he wasn't completely successful. "Problem, Auror Potter?"

Reminding himself that this man was his immediate supervisor and the head of the department, Harry bit down on the first response that came to mind, which was something along the lines of _I don't particularly enjoy things dropped in a manner that threatens very delicate parts of my anatomy, you utter wanker._ "No, sir."

"Good. I suggest you familiarise yourself with it right away."

Harry flipped open the file and scanned the first page. "Burglary?"

Auror Chadwick rolled his eyes. "Try reading a little further, Auror Potter. If it were that simple, I wouldn't be handing it off to you, now, would I? Why waste such a spectacular asset on something that the most junior of Aurors could solve in an afternoon?"

Proving that he had much more in the way of self-restraint than many would credit him for, Harry once again kept his mouth shut over the comments, delivered with as much sarcasm as they were. He felt it was likely not the time to mention that Auror Chadwick had given him _plenty_ of rubbish assignments over the last few years — from essentially the moment Chadwick had taken over the department almost four years ago. The man had seemed determined to prove that neither Harry nor Ron deserved their spots on the Auror squad, having not met the minimum requirements for the job with regard to the exams they should have taken before leaving Hogwarts — despite having been directly hired by the new Minister of Magic, or the whole we-defeated-the-most-evil-wizard-in-generations thing.

Harry had come to realise arguing those two points was futile about three days into working under Auror Chadwick. The fact that Ron had recently left the Ministry entirely to go and work for George only served to give Auror Chadwick confirmation of what he believed was inevitable.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I'll get right on it."

"See that you do." Auror Chadwick's eyes flicked up to the large clock on the far wall. "I suppose it's too late in the evening for you to do any worthwhile investigating —" Harry managed not to scoff, as he knew full well it was nearly eleven at night, "— but be certain to get to it straight away in the morning. I'd like this wrapped up quickly."

 _Yes, because we strive to keep cases open for as long as we can manage without solving anything around here_ , Harry thought. "Of course, sir."

As he watched Auror Chadwick walk out of the department, presumably headed for home, Harry opened his desk drawer and made another tally mark on a pad of paper that was already quite heavily filled. After a moment of contemplation, he added a second mark. Yes. It was at least twice that he'd kept his mouth shut when he'd wanted to snap some retort back at his supervisor, thus saving himself from being fired or made an example of in some manner.

Harry snorted and shut the drawer. And Hermione thought he had no sense of self-preservation at all.

 

===

 

As far as cases went, this one was deceptively convoluted.

It really shouldn't be this difficult to solve a few burglaries, Harry was certain. Most such crimes were not all that complex. Someone broke into a residence or business, took a few things, and left a few tell-tale bits of evidence at the scene to help law enforcement pinpoint the perpetrator in a fairly efficient manner. Harry was positive this sort of thing was easier using magic than it would be if he and the other Aurors were relegated to using only Muggle police investigation techniques. Every now and then, they came upon a crime scene where someone was particularly adept at covering their tracks, or a motive wasn't immediately clear, but a healthy combination of instinct, good spell work, and following Auror investigative procedures did wonders for reaching a solid conclusion within a reasonable span of time.

This case was proving to be annoyingly uncooperative.

So far, all Harry really had to go on were the absolute basics of crime reports. He had a list of people who had reported items stolen from their homes or places of work — items which seemed to clearly point to a link that involved alchemy, especially as nearly all of those filing reports were, by trade, alchemists, with the odd potions master thrown into the mix. The problem with trying to solve the case, really, was that there was virtually nothing in the way of forensic evidence, and no clear-cut motive. All manner of things had been stolen over the past fortnight, from stores of base metals to miscellaneous solvents to an increasing number of notes and alchemy texts. Whatever the perpetrator was after as the ultimate goal, Harry simply couldn't follow without a better knowledge of alchemy itself.

Which meant it was time to start thinking about finding someone _with_ that knowledge.

"You need an actual alchemist, if you're going to get anywhere with this case," Hermione said over her tea, giving Harry a look he'd become familiar with long ago. It was the sort of look she used to give him at Hogwarts, when he and Ron had tried to get her to 'help' with their school assignments, once they'd learned just asking for answers didn't work. It usually just earned them each lectures which mothers and teachers everywhere would be proud of. "I mean, I'm flattered you think I'd know so much about it, but it was never really an interest of mine. I'd be of more help if the case involved arithmancy, for Merlin's sake. Surely you have access to people who specialise in this sort of thing, with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's resources?"

Harry sighed and slumped over his half-eaten sandwich. He'd thought it likely that Hermione would shoo him off to go and consult someone with a more in-depth knowledge of alchemy, but he'd felt it worth trying, anyway. She knew an awful lot about so many things, it was only natural for him to hope she could make a few quick comments that would set him on the right track to wrapping up this case. "We have a list of people who might be considered 'expert witnesses' for trials and that sort of thing, but apparently we haven't had the need of a good alchemist in about six hundred years, and our list is a tad outdated. So no, we don't just have one we can ring up and get answers from."

Hermione glanced at the clock along the wall of the Ministry canteen and stood from the table, Vanishing her cup and napkin away. "Well, then. Short of some other break in the case, you might want to start with finding one of those. And I'm sure you know where you could start," she said pointedly, before gathering her rather large stack of files and heading towards the lifts to her own department.

Harry groaned, ignoring the look that earned him from the person at the next table. He had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what she'd been getting at, and resolved to try every other avenue he could think of, in the hopes he wouldn't have to resort to that particular bit of desperation.

Perhaps a trip to Hogwarts was in order.

 

===

 

Harry walked into the Headmistress's office at her answering call to his knock, unable to shake the residual feeling that he was in trouble at hearing her authoritative tone bidding him to enter. "Prof— I mean, Headmistress," he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "Thank you for agreeing to see me so quickly."

Minerva McGonagall raised her eyebrows just a fraction. "Well, consider it a favour from one former DMLE employee to a current one. It certainly could not be because I'm curious as to what one of my favourite students might need my help with, years after leaving Hogwarts."

Harry smiled, suddenly more at ease. "Favourite student?"

McGonagall huffed. "I said one of, Potter, do pay attention." Shaking her head, she sat in the seat behind the great desk and muttered, "Just like when he was a student." Harry couldn't help but laugh just a little, sitting in the proffered chair as he did so. "Now. Care to tell me exactly what necessitates you travelling all the way up here, dressed in full Auror's robes, no less?"

"I was hoping for some answers. In regard to a case I've recently been assigned." He tried to figure out how best to explain everything, while still keeping necessary case details secret, and found himself eyeing a small plate of shortbread biscuits. The Headmistress followed his gaze, sighed audibly, and slid the plate towards him. Thanking her, Harry settled back into his chair as he chewed. "I know I didn't show a lot of enthusiasm for certain subjects when I was a student here," he finally began, once he no longer had his mouth full of biscuit. "I mean, unless I thought they'd help me as an Auror. And I've sort of come up against one of those areas I don't know much about."

"Tell me it's not Divination."

Harry snorted, surprised at the general derision in her tone. "No. Um. Definitely not. It's more that I didn't even take the class in question. I think what I need is to find someone who's at the top of their field, or who at least scored an Outstanding on their N.E.W.T.s when they were a student? I figure that, since you taught here for so long before taking over this office, you might know of someone who was particularly interested or adept in the subject." He actually had two reasons for asking her this sort of question. He did, indeed, need the name of any specialists in the area, but he also wanted to know if there were any students who had poked around the area, much like he himself (and a young Tom Riddle, in fact) had piqued professors' interest when enquiring about subjects perhaps a bit too far outside the scope of the traditional curriculum, who might be potential suspects in these thefts.

"Well, spit it out, Potter. I can't help you if you don't tell me what you need. Lessons finish soon for the day, so if you don't want to be mobbed by swarms of students who still fancy you something of a celebrity, or at least want to know what, exactly, an Auror is doing at their school, you might want to get a move on."

"Er, right. Was there anyone you can think of – a past professor, or a student any time during your tenure here – who was exceptionally interested or talented in alchemy?"

McGonagall's eyebrows went up. "Alchemy?"

"Yes."

"There are four former students of whom I can think who fit your description, Mr Potter, and two retired professors. There wasn't interest enough this year or last to offer it as a subject, or I assume you'd be speaking with the instructor instead of me." Harry nodded. Of course he'd checked that, first. "Very well. I can write you a list with those names." She reached for a quill and began to pen a tidy list of names on a piece of parchment, pausing to look up over the frames of her spectacles at him. "But if you truly need a specialist, there's one name which tops them all. And if I were you, I'd stop pretending they don't exist. Get over it, and go and pay him a visit."

Harry tried not to visibly wince. "Yes ma'am. Thank you." He had hoped she would have a lead better than the one he'd been avoiding, the same person to whom Hermione had alluded. "I appreciate your help. And the biscuit."

"It was good to see you again, Potter," she said, leading him to the door of her office and escorting him down the staircase. "Do keep in touch. Let me know if you'd be willing to talk to some of the older Defence Against the Dark Arts students, or help Professor McKittrick with a practical demonstration or guest lecture sometime. We do have a few students who've taken quite an interest in the subject, who might greatly benefit."

"Yeah, that sounds good." Now that he was more than a year or two older than the students in question, Harry felt he would indeed be up for that sort of thing. Plus, it would give him a day away from Chadwick. "I'll send an owl with some possibilities after I've wrapped up this case."

"Thank you." With that, she turned left, leaving Harry to head right, back the way he'd come. Once she was gone, he unfolded the piece of parchment she'd slid across the desk at him, somehow still hoping he wouldn't find one particular name written there.

No such luck. There, the last name written amongst the six, underlined with a thick streak of ink that said even more than the Headmistress's tone had, was the name he’d both expected and dreaded:

Draco Malfoy.

 

===

 

"Ah, look, Potter's taking a moment to relax on the clock. Don't suppose you're any closer to solving your burglary cases?"

Harry lifted his head, removing his hand from over his eyes. He hadn't been napping or anything, for Merlin's sake. But the look Auror Beeland was giving him, from his place standing in front of Harry's desk, clearly indicated he thought Harry was slacking in his duties. In truth, he'd been trying to give himself a bit of a pep talk, needing to prepare himself for interaction with the person the universe kept trying to push him towards, despite his definite lack of enthusiasm. "I'm working on it."

"Yeah? Doesn't look like you're working very hard, mate. Can't rest on your laurels forever, you know. You might have to actually solve a case here and there."

Harry felt a hot mix of anger and annoyance swell up in his chest, and he opened his mouth to say something about how his closed case rate was significantly higher than Beeland's own and was, in fact, the second highest within the entire department. But just as he was drawing in a deep breath to do so, Auror Chadwick came up behind the other man, clapping his hand on his shoulder.

"Now now, Auror Beeland. I'm certain Potter wouldn't dream of letting his obligations slide. No doubt he's doing some very important contemplation of his case. Aren't you, Potter?"

"Actually, I was just about to leave," Harry said, trying to sound completely unbothered. It was hard to do when all he wanted to do was deliver a good, solid punch to Beeland's square jaw. Bertram Beeland was one of Chadwick's personal favourites, the son of some cousin's brother's sister's nephew or something of that nature. When Ron had still been an Auror, Harry had at least had someone else to grumble about him with. Ron's imitation of the bloke had been quite good. But now Ron was busy with George in the shop, and Harry had no one he could count on to make jokes about his ridiculous nose, or stupid voice, or even anyone else who would call him "Auror Bell-End" behind his back.

Fuck, Harry missed Ron some days.

"Oh? Feel you've earned a short day, do you?" Beeland asked with a snort as Chadwick walked away. "After all your hard work?" Harry had a brief vision of hexing both men as he stood and shrugged on his cloak. What he wouldn't do for the chance to spar against one of them in the practice room for ten minutes. He could make at least Beeland think twice about being such an utter arse. And given the way Beeland avoided him in the rare occasions they did end up in the training and practice areas at the same time, Harry was pretty sure he knew it.

"I have someone to interview," Harry muttered instead, shoving his way past his colleague on his way out of the department. He could really only deal with one prick per day before wanting to take drastic measures.

And lucky him, he got to trade Beeland for Malfoy. Wasn't it just a wonderful world?

 

===

 

Harry stood outside Malfoy Manor, grumbling to himself at the pretentiousness of the entire place as he waited. He'd knocked nearly thirty seconds ago, and he was fairly certain a place like this would have charms and wards set to appropriately alert the occupants as to a visitor's presence immediately. He couldn't know for certain without using a number of spells, but he had the feeling that _someone_ was home. And, if they knew who it was, it was likely they were either avoiding him and hoping he'd go away, or were taking their sweet time in getting to the door.

When the door did finally swing open, Harry blinked. There was no one there behind it. At least, that's what he thought for a second or two, until a high, squeaky voice spoke up, drawing Harry's gaze down about two feet. "Welcome, good sir! How may Wobbly be helping you this evening?"

Harry, who had been expecting perhaps Narcissa Malfoy over either of the Malfoy men, and certainly not a house-elf, shook himself mentally. "I've come to speak to Draco Malfoy." He awarded himself mental points for it coming out as a statement instead of a question.

The house-elf hesitated for just a moment, glancing back over his shoulder. "Of course, sir. Wobbly will be right back, sir. Master Draco has been busy, and Wobbly must make sure this visit will not disturb his work. Just one moment!" And with that, the door closed in Harry's face and the house-elf disappeared.

"What the...?" Harry muttered to himself, shaking his head. The Malfoys still had house-elves?

Hermione was going to be so angry when he told her later.

The door reopened a full minute later, this time wider than before. "Sorry, sir! Wobbly had to seek Master Draco's approval for this interruption. Please, follow Wobbly to the library." The house-elf stood back, gesturing grandly with one arm, and Harry stepped inside the Manor, mumbling a thank you. As he followed the small being leading the way, Harry couldn't help notice that the house-elf was clad in forest green, silver trim accenting the darker colour. He snorted just a little. It figured that even the Malfoys' servants would be stuck with Slytherin colours. "Here we are, sir! Please wait here. Master Draco should be with you shortly!" Bowing politely, Wobbly popped out of the room with a loud crack.

"He's going to make me wait in here forever, isn't he?" Harry muttered, looking at the bound volumes on the shelves nearest where he stood. It _would_ be just like Malfoy, to pull something like that.

"Well, that wouldn't exactly be polite, would it?" a familiar voice drawled from the doorway, and Harry turned around to face the source. "Though, you know, Potter, a little notice would have been nice." He still hadn't entered the room fully, which annoyed Harry a little. "Official business, I presume from your attire? Wobbly said it was you, but didn't mention what had brought you here."

Harry drew himself up more fully. He hadn't told the house-elf who he was, and he didn't have his name visible, as his badge was under his cloak, he'd been in such a rush to escape the DMLE. "Official business, yes."

Malfoy's face flickered in such a way that made Harry notice the tension he seemed to be holding throughout his body, evident now that Harry was actually looking. "And what sort of business might that be, exactly?"

Harry weighed his options here. He could follow his general instinct, which was to be snarky and antagonistic, but that would get him precisely nowhere. He could be absolutely formal and professional, which he'd fallen back on a number of times in his career, for various reasons. Or he could try to remember that, however much Harry hated the fact that he was standing here just now, Malfoy had something Harry needed, and playing nice might be the only way to get what he desired.

He took a deep breath. "Actually, I'm in need of your services."

Malfoy blinked. "...Which services, specifically, are you seeking?"

"I have a case that's giving me some trouble. And I believe that what I need, in order to be able to solve it, is the expertise of an accomplished alchemist. And since you're essentially the most accomplished alchemist of our generation, here I am." He almost wished it weren't true, how well-regarded Malfoy was within his field, but even before he'd met with Hermione or Headmistress McGonagall, a quick bit of casual conversation with a few select people had brought Draco's name to the forefront. And _after_ his meeting with the headmistress, in which Harry had tried to find basically anyone else he might be able to consult, the number of newspaper articles and the list of contributors in some of the alchemy journals had only confirmed that which Harry had been dreading — Malfoy was Harry's best resource for anything alchemical.

"You need me as a technical consultant." Malfoy's tone was odd, something Harry couldn't quite identify, but he wasn't laughing, which was a start.

"Yes."

"But this is just a request."

"Yes."

"And if I decline to work with you?"

"Then I find someone else who knows something about alchemy," Harry said, trying not to clench his teeth. He did have two other people he could try to contact, but his gut told him it was Malfoy who would be of the most help, from a technical, expert standpoint. And Merlin, how he hated to admit that, even to himself. "And wish you a good evening, and thank you for your time."

This time, there was a more familiar look on Malfoy's face. Harry was certain there was no expression more at home on Draco Malfoy than a smirk. It was a full-body thing with him, not simply confined to a tilt of his mouth or lift of his eyebrows. "Hm. I see." He brought his hand up to stroke his chin, as if deeply contemplating some complicated problem, and Harry wondered if the universe simply wanted to see him snap and punch someone today. But he needed Malfoy, and there was no way he'd voluntarily help Harry if that happened. Hell, there was really very little chance he'd voluntarily help Harry _anyway_ , a fact which was becoming clearer and more worrisome as the seconds stretched on.

"All right, Potter," Malfoy said several agonising moments later. "I'll consent to be your consultant on whatever case you're on. Go ahead. Ask me whatever it is you need to know."

The relief Harry might have felt at Malfoy's acquiescence was masked by his annoyance and vague panic at not having a list of simple questions at the ready. "Actually," he said, trying for professional while not seeming standoffish, "I was thinking you could come down to the DMLE tomorrow — if convenient — and answer some questions there. That way I have access to all the relevant files for the case, and will be less likely to leave anything out, or cite an inaccurate detail."

Malfoy's face abruptly lost the smirk, closing up on itself instead. "I'm not certain that's the best idea. Is that really necessary?"

"Yeah. Yes. I work my cases fully and professionally, Malfoy. I don't do them half-arsed. Come to the DMLE. I'll even work around your schedule. Just give me an hour or two."

There was another long pause, but Malfoy eventually nodded. "All right. I'll come in. Does tomorrow evening, around this time, work for you?"

This time, Harry did feel relief. "Yes, that's fine." Gathering up all semblances of maturity and professionalism he could muster, he held out his hand. "Thank you, Malfoy. I appreciate your cooperation and any assistance you can give."

After a slight moment of hesitation, Malfoy clasped Harry's hand and shook it very briefly. "Of course." He nodded behind Harry, who turned to find the house-elf standing behind him, having somehow appeared silently while Harry wasn't paying attention. "Wobbly will show you out."

"Come with Wobbly, sir," the house-elf said, polite as could be, and Harry followed obediently. It wasn't until they'd reached the front door that Harry thought to ask a question that had hit him earlier.

"Wobbly? I didn't introduce myself earlier, did I?"

"No, sir. But Wobbly would know Harry Potter anywhere!"

"I suppose Dobby had mentioned me, at some point," Harry mused, feeling a soft pang at the memory of his friend.

"Oh, Wobbly never knew Dobby personally, sir. But Master Draco talks of Harry Potter now and then." At that, the house-elf looked a little distressed, and Harry rushed to head off what he thought may be about to happen.

"No worries, Wobbly, I won't say anything to Malfoy. He won't mistreat you for saying anything, and you don't have to punish yourself."

The house-elf blinked at him with confused, large eyes. "Mistreat?"

"You know what I mean."

Wobbly's expression turned very strange. "Wobbly is not understanding, exactly. It is late, sir. Perhaps that is the problem."

"Right. Sorry, Wobbly. Have a good evening. Thank you." He walked down the drive towards the gate with a vaguely confused feeling following after him. All in all, however, Harry thought the visit had gone at least a little better than he had expected.

Perhaps this wasn't the worst possible idea, after all.

 

===

 

By the time Malfoy arrived at the DMLE at a quarter to eight the next evening, Harry had already had a busy day and was fast approaching the end of his increasingly frayed rope. He honestly could not tell if he was more annoyed with the prospect of having to spend time in Malfoy's company after such a day, or grateful that at last his expert had arrived, which meant he might be able to solve this case and be done with it soon.

"You're looking a bit haggard," Malfoy greeted him, having been shown to Harry's desk by one of the junior Aurors.

Maybe more annoyed than grateful, as it turned out.

"Yes, well, some of us actually work around here," Harry snapped before remembering himself. "Sorry. I mean, thank you for coming." He surveyed the stacks of papers and photographs and folders on his desk and sighed. There was nowhere for Malfoy to sit, really. If he sat on the other side of the desk, Harry wouldn't even be able to see him over the mountain of stuff that was currently taking up his workspace. "Follow me, would you? Interrogation room two."

Malfoy's face went a little more pinched than usual, but he nodded. "Fine. Lead the way." His face became even more pinched as they walked through the department, and even Harry couldn't entirely ignore the way his colleagues' heads rose to follow their progress to the private room. Aurors were, as a general rule, a bit of a nosey bunch, but most of them were good about not sticking their noses in cases that didn't concern them. A number of those settled at the desks around him, however, seemed like they were just keeping back from saying something unsolicited.

"All right, Potter," Malfoy said, once they were inside the small room, the door shut firmly behind them. "Let's have it." He hadn't even sat down, and Harry wondered if he was going to be this pushy and rude about everything.

Plopping himself into the far seat and earning him an odd look from Malfoy, Harry nodded, tapping his fingers idly on the case file he'd brought with him. "Okay. So. We've had a rash of burglaries happen lately, and the gist of it is that everything stolen seems clearly related to the field of alchemy — equipment, some experiments-in-progress, and a load of texts. And unfortunately, I know fuck-all about alchemy. So what I could really use is someone who can make potential connections and conclusions as to a motive from our thief, because I can't follow the train of thought."

"That's it? That's really what you want from me?"

Harry blinked. "That's what I said when I came to ask for your help in the first place, didn't I?" Merlin, if Malfoy had gone a bit daft in the few years since Harry had last seen him, this probably wasn't going to work out at all in his favour. He needed someone mentally sharp for this. And, much as he hated to admit it, Malfoy had always been fairly bright; Harry knew he'd come in just behind Hermione in most of their classes — above her in Potions, in fact — and even he wasn't quite cynical enough to think the Malfoys had managed to bribe every single teacher within Hogwarts to ensure that was the case. "Hell, Malfoy, you're really going to have to learn to listen, if you're going to be any help here. I honestly don't have the time to repeat everything I tell you."

For some reason, Malfoy looked utterly at a loss for a moment, and then visibly shook himself and sat down in the other chair. "Right. Won't be a problem."

"Better not be," Harry muttered, mostly to himself. The slight narrowing of Malfoy's eyes told him he'd not been as quiet as intended. "So. Anyway. There have been six burglaries, all told, as of this morning. Two were last night, and the first of the six happened nearly two weeks ago. What was taken from — I'm sorry, don't you want to take notes?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes and produced a small self-inking quill from an inside pocket of his robes. Harry took a blank sheet of parchment from the back of his file folder and slid it across the desk, noting without surprise that Malfoy didn't bother to thank him. "All right," Malfoy said, scratching a few words at the top of the paper as he seemed to settle in. "Let's get to it."

 

===

 

After an hour of Malfoy's time — in which he was strictly business-like and surprisingly dedicated to coming up with workable theories for Harry to go on — Harry felt on slightly more solid footing regarding his case, even if he wasn't really much closer to cracking it.

For all their discussion, all Malfoy had really been able to offer was that the link in all the cases was gold. Specifically, the equipment and knowledge that would let someone create a modest amount of it. And while even Harry knew that was a pretty basic thing within the field of alchemy, and more or less what a lot of its original pursuit had boiled down to, that still didn't help him pinpoint a suspect – or group of suspects, as Malfoy had floated that as a possibility. "It's a lot of equipment," he'd noted at one point, shrugging. "So either someone's starting from scratch, or they're trying to acquire the means to expand an operation."

Harry had conceded that point. Unfortunately, when it came to trying to find a motive for why someone would want to acquire a quantity of gold, Malfoy had made his point well enough with a pointed look.

Gold was gold, and money could buy you fairly well anything.

Harry chose not to say anything particularly scathing about that.

Not even anything about fathers buying their sons' way onto school Quidditch teams.

(After Malfoy had left, Harry had returned to his desk, opened up his top drawer, flipped to another sheet on his small notepad, and put a tally mark on the fresh page. Then, after a bit of contemplation, he added two more marks.

It was _at least_ three times he'd kept his mouth shut instead of saying something sarcastic back at Malfoy.)

Harry knew very well that compiling a list along the lines of _People Who Want More Money/Gold_ was absolutely useless, as it likely contained the names of ninety-nine percent of the world, so he set about trying to see if there was some pattern — geographic or otherwise — to the targets of the burglaries, in the hope that he might be able to get to the next site before their thief did.

In this, he was not successful.

Two days after Malfoy had come to see him in the DMLE, Harry had two more break-ins to add to his file. They had been reported within six hours of one another; the first before dawn the following morning, after some wards had been tripped and the person reporting the crime had gone to investigate why, and the second a few hours later, when the victim had settled themselves in their lab for a day's work and noticed a significant problem.

Harry had just arrived at the second crime scene, and immediately his sense of "something here isn't right" began pinging.

It only took about twenty minutes' worth of questioning the suspiciously cagey victim to find out why, and the result had Harry feeling annoyed, angry, and more than a little unsettled.

It wasn't just alchemy texts and equipment stolen from the property of Mr EM Herzberger, of Bracknell.

Also missing was a rather rare — and potentially dangerous — Dark artefact.

 

===

 

Mr Herzberger, as it happened, was not especially thrilled to be brought into the DMLE for further questioning. He was even less thrilled to finally leave it, four hours later, having been charged with Failure to Register a Dark artefact and fined a fairly significant sum.

The fact that the man had apparently yet to master the turning of other metals to gold, and thus would have to make a sizable dent in his Gringotts account, probably chafed at him on a professional level.

Harry didn't feel any pity for him, really. He was rather of the opinion that Dark artefacts and the like were best off gathered up by officials and destroyed, having had more than his fair share of unpleasant experiences with them, but he'd lost out in that fight, having to concede to the Ministry's "solution" of having all owners register their possessions and its decisions on which items were the ones "Dark enough" to be confiscated.

And half of those, Harry thought bitterly as he led Herzberger out of Chadwick's office, were replaced by a sum of money for the owner's troubles and loss.

At least Herzberger wasn't getting that particular deal, this time around.

Auror Beeland was loitering around Harry's desk when Harry returned to it, and Harry knew just from the look on his face that the man was just itching to say something. He didn't even bother with politeness. "What? What is it you have to say, Beeland?"

His colleague shrugged with faux innocence. "Oh, nothing, really, Potter. I was just thinking that it must be awfully hard on you, to have done so well at solving things when you were in school, only to be so stymied by a simple thing like a rash of burglaries. I mean, really, not even a useable footprint or magical signature or anything else of that nature at _any_ of the crime scenes? What is this now? Ten burglaries?"

"Eight," Harry said shortly. "And I'm working on it."

"I’m sure you are. I saw you brought in Draco Malfoy the other day. You were in the interrogation room for quite a while. Yet you still haven't made any arrests. I wonder if—"

"You can keep wondering, Beeland. This is my case. Keep your fat nose out of it and focus on your own work. You've got to have at least one open case to keep you busy. I assume Chadwick justified your hiring somehow." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Harry felt a little horrified. He was usually much better at keeping that sort of comment inside his own head, where it couldn't do anything to get him in trouble. But that was perhaps a bit more of his true feelings on his colleague than should ever be uttered aloud—especially to the man's face.

Beeland's face went red. "Watch yourself, Potter. Not everyone's fooled into thinking you're so wonderful. Some of us see right through you."

Harry didn't even know how to respond to that, but it didn't matter, as Beeland stormed off, heading out of the department completely. Perhaps it was the stress of the morning and his massive distaste for dealing with Herzberger and the Dark artefact complication that had caused him to lose his cool. Or perhaps it was that the man had struck a bit of a nerve, in that Harry had no idea why a series of simple thefts were so difficult to solve. This was the sort of case he and Ron had cut their teeth on, as junior Aurors, solved within a day or two.

So why was it so bloody difficult to get anywhere with this one?

 

===

 

The one good thing about having Draco Malfoy already on record as being the expert technical consultant on Harry's current cases was that, with the addition of a Dark artefact being thrown into the mix, Harry didn't much have to worry about finding a new expert.

The Malfoys weren't exactly ignorant of such objects.

After a hastily-penned letter sent off by owl, Harry spent the day wrapping up paperwork on an older case, followed by a visit to the archives to look up the possibility of any of the previous burglary victims holding any Permits to Possess a Dark Artefact.

Bureaucracy was a massive pain in his arse, but Harry could admit it came in handy sometimes. Unfortunately, his search turned up no useful results. Only the second victim of the eight had ever filed for such a permit — for an old family heirloom which, upon cross-referencing the indicated files, had been sold to the Smithsonian museum in America just over a year ago, given over to the care of a witch who worked as a curator.

So unless the rest of the burglary victims were like Herzberger, and were keeping items illegally — which meant that, if they were, their items had not been stolen, or they had found it prudent to neglect mentioning said illegal items had been stolen — there was no link Harry could make quite yet. It was possible that the thief had taken Herzberger's artefact on a whim.

But Harry just... didn't quite believe that.

It was nearly suppertime when Malfoy finally made his way into the DMLE, looking highly irritated, as if he were the one who had been waiting on Harry before he could get any work done. He took one look at Harry's desk, which was in no better shape than it had been the last time he'd been here, and grunted. "Interrogation room again, I suppose?"

"Three this time; two's in use," Harry confirmed, moving quickly around his mess of work to catch up with Draco, who was already striding in that direction. Well, 'stomping' might have been a more accurate description, but Harry was certain Malfoy would only become surlier if Harry pointed it out. He settled himself in one of the chairs, noting that, for the second time, Malfoy seemed content to simply stand there at the corner of the table, as if waiting for some cue. When Harry made a gesture for him to sit, however, it was completely ignored. "You know," Harry said, feeling a bit cross, "I _did_ say in my letter that I could just come to the Manor again, if it was inconvenient for you to come all the way out to the Ministry. You could have sent back an owl with an appropriate time for me to come over."

Malfoy made a face. "No, I think you were rather correct, the first time we spoke, in saying that my coming here was a better idea."

Well, that did nothing to explain why Malfoy seemed so damned put out about it. Perhaps all his childish snivelling and whinging had simply turned into old-fashioned cantankerousness as he'd grown older. Well, a bit older. He was obviously still young, though he had seemed to grow into himself a bit. It made him look... less poncey, if Harry had to admit it. It wasn't quite on the level of Neville Longbottom's victorious triumph over puberty, but Malfoy was holding his own.

"Okay, well, as I'm obviously putting you out somehow, I'll make this quick," Harry said, letting some of his own irritation seep into his tone. He had plenty to spare, and Malfoy was lucky Harry was putting in an effort not to let all of it out at once. That was something best saved for the training and practice room and a good hour or two of sparring. "There were two more burglaries." He pulled out two sheets of paper. "Here's what was stolen from each."

Malfoy sat down roughly into the remaining chair and read through the list on the first page. "More alchemy equipment, though not as much. More texts, though. And these are some of the better ones." Harry saw his eyes track up to the first line on the page. "Reginald Souter? He has a decent collection of rare texts. I'm sure he's losing sleep over having these taken." Malfoy flipped to the second page and snorted derisively as the name at the top caught his attention. "Herzberger? That prat was burgled? What did they get from that? A chest full of iron? Empty phials? Or just a diary full of notes on how he'd not yet had any luck in his experiments?" Malfoy scanned through the rest of the list, something like a sneer on his face, until he got to the end of the writing on the page. "A Monocle of Horus?"

Harry nodded. He'd had no idea what that was, initially, but it appeared Malfoy did. Harry was only marginally familiar with Egyptian mythology, though he'd always found Bill Weasley's stories about the history interesting enough. The Eye of Horus, Harry had at least heard of before. The Monocle of Horus, not so much.

"And what the bloody hell was a fool like Herzberger doing with something like _that_?"

Harry shrugged. "He claims it was a gift to his father, who left it to him after his death. We've no idea where it came from. And, as we can't examine it, since it's been stolen, we're operating under the assumption that it's real. It could very well be a forgery. But if it _is_ real..."

"But if it is, then your thief is out there with an artefact that focuses and magnifies anger into something that could evolve into war. Or, well, if he's not got the kind that's been created from sun-glass, then I guess he'd just be a good hunter."

"Yeah. It's not something we're really wanting to take chances with. I mean, it's likely the artefact is just a fake, even if Herzberger doesn't believe so. But now we're having to consider that the thief knew what he was taking, in snagging a Dark artefact on top of more alchemy texts and equipment."

"Are you certain he didn't just nick it, thinking it looked expensive and might be something he could pawn for more money? Because almost everything else still looks like it points to the creation of gold."

" _Almost_ everything else?"

Malfoy shifted a bit uncomfortably. "How much research did you do into the texts that were taken in the other new burglary?"

"Not to point out the obvious, Malfoy, but that's sort of why you're here. I'm not even sure what the hell I'm looking for, with most of this alchemy stuff. Why? Other than the fact that Souter's texts were rarer than most of the others have been, I don't know much about them."

Malfoy made a slightly pained noise. "Potter. This particular text, if I'm not mistaken — and I don't think I am, since it was Souter's pride and joy as far as his collection went, and he's taunted me with it at least five times over the last few years — has some very valuable notes in the margins. Things that expand the usefulness of the printed text quite a bit. Understand?"

Harry, who had a sudden, intense reminder of just how "helpful" Snape's notes in his own battered copy of his potions text had been, nodded. "Yeah. I get it. But what sort of notes were they?"

"It was more who made them, than anything else," Malfoy said. "I'm sure you're familiar with Nicolas Flamel?"

"You could say that," Harry said, feeling uneasiness creep up on him. It had taken him, Ron and Hermione a ridiculously long time to find information on the man in their first year, almost solely because they'd been looking in the wrong place. But to say Harry had forgotten the man who had created the very item Voldemort had been intently pursuing would not be accurate. "So our thief now has the notes of Flamel?"

Malfoy shook his head. "It's not like he has the man's actual personal notebook, Potter. That's safe somewhere else. But he has a good-quality alchemy text, with some of Flamel’s musings from very early in his alchemy career about the base theory of the practice. It could help someone gain a solid understanding of the subject, in a manner more accelerated than most. Since it looks like your thief is stealing items in order to practise alchemy, given the link between all the items, that could definitely speed him towards whatever his ultimate goal may be."

Harry wished that he had been able to read these notes himself, if only so he could solve his damned case without needing to bring in any pain-in-the-arse consultants. "Great. So now we've got someone messing around with alchemy they probably don't understand, and we're throwing Dark artefacts into the mix."

"If that's the way you're taking it, I suppose so."

"Why else would I have asked you about both?"

"Why else indeed," Malfoy said darkly. "Look, you know what, Potter? I'm done for the evening. I don't have anything else to offer you tonight. If you'll excuse me." Before Harry could really figure out why there had been such an abrupt change in attitude, Malfoy had exited the small, bare room and headed straight for the exit, leaving the two sheets of paper sitting on the desk and his cloak lying on the back of the chair he'd barely even sat in.

Harry snagged it with a sigh and jogged to catch Malfoy before he was able to get into one of the lifts to the Atrium. "Hey, Malfoy!"

"Leave me alone, Potter, would you?" Malfoy snapped, not even bothering to turn around. "I don't know why I thought it was a good idea to help you in the first place. Forget what I said a moment ago. Consider this my last consult. I quit."

"Quit? You can't do that!"

"I seem to recall you telling me your request for my help was simply that — a request. That I was under no actual obligation to help you out. So, again, consider this conversation to be my denial of your request. I'm only so masochistic, Potter. And I'm done."

"Wait," Harry said, a mix of confusion and anger swirling around in his head. "You can't quit."

"I believe I just did."

"Then consider your continued assistance repayment for my testimony at your trial!"

Malfoy whirled around at that, stopping so quickly that Harry almost ran into him. He looked stricken. "Are you serious?"

Harry winced. He'd known, even before he finished the words, that it was a dirty tactic, to guilt Malfoy into lending his expertise. Harry himself loathed the idea of life debts; if he had to live his life taking every single one into account, he'd never finish the lists of whom he owed and those who owed him. He'd need Hermione to work out the more complicated bits of maths for him, for Merlin's sake. "Just." He steeled himself. "Please."

Malfoy's face was awful, set like this; even his body was rigid, and his words sounded forced. "Fine. I won't walk away tonight. But you've got one week, Potter. One week, and then the last of my good graces are used up, repayment for past actions or no." He snatched the cloak from Harry's hands and turned back around. "So if you've got some other questions you'd like to ask me, I suggest you do it before that week is up."

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching Malfoy's retreating form. He had no idea what had really changed back in that interrogation room, nor what Malfoy had meant in saying he was through being masochistic.

But he did know that he was potentially losing someone integral to getting his case solved in the next seven days and, now more than ever, that put a pressure on him to get this thing worked out.

 

===

 

There were times Harry was wrong about things. He could admit that. He didn't _like_ to, of course, but he _could_ do it.

There were also other times where Harry rather wished he _had_ been wrong about things.

Late in the night after Malfoy had stormed out of the DMLE, Harry received a call to investigate another burglary. This time, the thief had woken their target, who had fallen asleep in his lab sometime not long before. And though Antonio D'Argento had at least caught a brief glimpse of the intruder before being incapacitated by a well-thrown hex, he still was not able to prevent anything from being taken.

It wasn't just alchemy equipment and texts, either. Two of the items missing were Dark artefacts.

D'Argento, at least, had permits for them. It didn't exactly make Harry thrilled to learn it, but at least the man followed the law, and Harry had to give him a bit of credit for that.

This time, when his consultant arrived at the DMLE, Harry heard the murmurs of his colleagues before he even saw Malfoy himself walking towards him. The tips of Malfoy's ears were pink, and Harry figured he could sense the way the other Aurors were staring at him and throwing suspicious looks just as well as Harry could. Getting up and meeting him halfway between the department entrance and his desk, Harry put a hand on the small of Malfoy's back and nudged him lightly in that direction. "Room two," Harry murmured, keeping his voice low at this distance. Despite the small amount of force in the touch, Malfoy stumbled slightly, and Harry instinctively moved his hand to grasp Malfoy's elbow to keep him balanced, unable to help but notice the way Malfoy shuddered.

Harry pulled his hand away quickly. Fine. If Malfoy found being near him that distasteful, Harry would keep his distance, for the sake of making cooperation more likely.

"What do you have for me this time?" Malfoy asked the moment Harry had locked the door to the interrogation room behind them. "Just have out with it, would you?"

Harry bristled a bit, but it wasn't as if he hadn't expected Malfoy to be antagonistic, or at least standoffish. "More items have gone missing. And I've managed to get a list of suspects going, though I don't think it's complete. Maybe you can add to it."

Malfoy's eyebrows went up. "I see."

"Look, I think the most recent burglary is a turning point of sorts, even more than the Herzberger thing was. This time two different Dark artefacts were stolen. One was a Chalice of Clarity — you're familiar with it, right?" Malfoy nodded tersely. "And the other was a charmed pocket watch that belonged to some Russian count. I'm still looking into that one."

"Uh-huh. So why, exactly, do you need me here today?"

"I told you. I've got a list of suspects going. I thought you could look it over, tell me what you think. I think you might recognise some of the names."

"Is that so?"

Harry furrowed his brow and pulled a piece of parchment out of the top file folder. "Here. Look at it. Tell me what you think." When Malfoy didn't take it from him, Harry made an irritated noise and set it down on the table, waiting until Malfoy decided he felt up to actually helping out. After a moment, Malfoy sat stiffly on the other chair and bent his head to look at the list. He'd only glanced at it a few moments before raising his head. "These are all the names?"

"Yes. Currently."

"You're not withholding any intentionally?"

Harry groaned. "No. I told you, if you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them."

Malfoy pursed his lips. "Other than this list, is there anything else you'd like me to weigh in on? You said there were more thefts."

"Just some of Antonio D'Argento's things. Some of his texts — one of which was apparently in Italian, anyway, so we're considering the thief might speak Italian, or at least know someone who does — and the most recent two journals filled with his notes." When Malfoy sucked in a breath, Harry sat up. "What? What do you know about his work?"

"Nothing exceptionally detailed, since he's a fairly private man, but I have had dinner and drinks with him a few times over the years. He was actually someone who helped me out when I was first beginning to do my own work in the field. All I really know of his recent work is that he'd been following along in Flamel's footsteps, trying to recreate a number of his successes. I don't know, however, how far he's made it in any of them. D'Argento managed to turn other materials into gold for the first time over sixty years ago. I know he's fairly skilled at other things; I'd imagine that he's managed more impressive feats, even since I last spoke to him. He used to be more interested in the theoretical than the practical, but I couldn't tell you if that's still true. That stance is actually what pushed me to seek his input to begin with."

Harry pondered that for a moment. That might be something to mull over for a bit longer. At the very least, now he had a better focus for questions for the man, in trying to figure out who might have stolen his property. "I'll follow up on that," he said, making a note on one of the files. "Now. Back to that set of suspects. Anyone to add, in light of that additional information?"

Malfoy's jawline went tight, his teeth clenched. After a moment, he let a long breath out through his nose. "Fine. If it's going to be like that. Give me a damned quill." He took the one Harry offered, nearly yanking it out of his hand, and printed a name slowly at the bottom, gritting his teeth as he wrote. "There," he said, practically growling. "Is that what you fucking wanted from me?"

Harry took the sheet of parchment back, turning it around so he could read the addition. Printed in bold, black letters, underneath the name _Jean-Pierre Dupuis_ , was Malfoy's own. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

Malfoy just glared at him. "No. It's yours."

"What the hell are you on about?"

"Cut the act, Potter. It's not funny."

"I told you before that I don't have the time to repeat myself, but I'm going to do it right now anyway: what the hell are you on about? And get to the point, because I don't appreciate you wasting my time."

"Wasting _your_ time? Look, Potter, this game of yours isn't cute. I know I'm a suspect, all right? I'd thought that you'd matured enough to at least be up front about it. But doing it this way is just cruel."

"I'm not being cruel! Who the hell said you were a suspect?"

"Virtually every single Auror I've walked past since you had me come in the first time, for one. You think I can't hear them talking? They all shut up the moment I walk in, like I've interrupted something, and then it's just murmuring, as if I can't hear when they're sitting so close. I've seen all of the looks. And that utter wanker of a colleague you have, the one with the big fat nose and the annoying voice, insinuated the other night in the lift that it was only a matter of time before I was up in front of the Wizengamot again."

"Beeland," Harry huffed, not at all surprised he'd been the rudest of the bunch. "You're right, he _is_ a wanker. But I was being serious, Malfoy. You're _not_ a suspect. Not in _any_ official sense."

Malfoy snorted. "Right. Why the hell do you think I came back after that first time? It's in my own damned best interest to get this case solved! It's also why I've insisted on meeting you here, all right? I figured it was better to answer whatever questions you had here, in the middle of your department, with all the other Aurors around, than it was to have you alone in my home, where anyone could accuse me of having manipulated you in some way. I'm still not safe from that, by the way. Being locked in here with you makes the others suspicious enough, I'm certain. No witnesses. It's got to seem more than coincidence that not only do the thefts centre upon alchemy — when I've made a number of publicised advances in the field — but now they involve Dark artefacts. The entire fucking department thinks I'm involved in these crimes, Potter. Tell me I'm wrong."

Harry didn't say anything for a moment. Instead, he waited till Malfoy looked him in the eye. "All right," he said calmly. It was usually so easy to get worked up when Malfoy was yelling at him, or telling him he was rude or incorrect or stupid or any of the other insults he'd ever thrown, but Harry didn't feel anger towards him right now. There was anger, yes, but it was directed at other sources. At least now a lot of things made sense.

"All right?"

"Yeah. All right, Malfoy. You're wrong. The entire Auror department does _not_ consider you a suspect. _I_ don't. And I never did."

"Are you just still fucking with me, Potter? What the — how the hell can you say that you, of all people, don't suspect me?"

Harry shrugged. "Gut feeling, mostly. And trust me, Malfoy, I've learned to trust that feeling. How many bloody times, as a kid, did I go around telling anyone who would listen that I thought you were up to something?"

Malfoy made a noise that sounded like a startled laugh. "Well, you were right, weren't you?"

"Exactly. I _felt_ it. I _knew_ it. I knew when you were up to no good, even if I didn't get every detail right. Seriously, we have a longstanding history of me being quite ready to accuse you of wrongdoing. If _I_ don't consider you a suspect, that should fucking say something, don't you think?"

For a moment, Malfoy just stared at him. And then he laughed, something that sounded almost broken at first, half-near a sob, before it evened out. Harry let him have a moment, unsure how to respond in any case. "Fuck, Potter," Malfoy managed after a few moments, the last giggle tapering off. "You're serious."

"I'm serious." He tapped a fingernail on the stack of case files in front of him. "Look. I don't care that the crimes involve your field, or that they involve Dark artefacts, which your family has been known to have — that you've personally been known to handle. I don't even fucking care that the bloke D'Argento caught a brief glimpse of was tall and thin and had pale blond hair. You're not a suspect, okay? And if you still don't believe me, there's plenty of Veritaserum in the storage cupboard out there. I'll go and get some, if you want that assurance. "

Malfoy snorted. "That's all right." He chuckled, seemingly amused anew. "Tall and thin with pale blond hair, hm? And you still don't suspect me?"

"Yeah. How's that for you? Have to admit, it's one hell of an unfortunate coincidence, too."

"That's one way of putting it," Malfoy said. "So. What do we do now?"

Harry shrugged. "What the hell do you think? We catch the bloke who actually did this."

Malfoy met his eyes again, held the gaze for longer than he had the last time. "Yeah." The serious expression on his face slowly morphed into something like a grin, sharp and a little fierce. "Let's fucking do it."

 

===

 

The next evening found Malfoy sitting in front of the mound of work on Harry's desk, looking uncomfortable but determined.

As Harry hadn't actually requested his presence, he was a little surprised to walk into the DMLE to find this particular situation. But he was an Auror; he could roll with the punches. Adaptability was key in his line of work. Hell, he could even be nice. "Malfoy. Good to see you. What can I do for you?"

"Actually, Potter, I think it's more what I can do for you, in this case." He cleared his throat, and Harry was immediately drawn to the way his foot jiggled underneath his robes. Whatever else Malfoy was doing here, he was nervous about something. "I don't suppose you're able to take a break for dinner any time soon?"

Harry blinked. "I was just about to gather my things and head home, actually," he said slowly. "Why do you ask about dinner?"

Malfoy shrugged, but the movement was jerky. "I was thinking we could head to a restaurant not far from here, perhaps discuss some things in private."

Harry's eyebrows went up. "You're asking me to dinner?"

"Strictly case-related, of course. I just thought we could kill two birds with one stone — eat while we go over some things I've been mulling over since yesterday."

"Do you have any new ideas?"

Malfoy snorted. "Wow, Potter, way to contain your eagerness for Auror work. Yes. I have some thoughts on which I'd like your opinion."

Harry thought about it very briefly. He himself hadn't come up with much in the way of settling on a suspect since yesterday. He'd managed to knock two of the suspects off the shortlist this afternoon after verifying a few alibis. One of those former suspects had been on the list Headmistress McGonagall had given him, in fact. He still hadn't nailed down an ultimate motive for anything, other than a desire for wealth, which was not exactly something that excluded a lot of people. If Malfoy had had some sort of breakthrough, Harry was certainly curious as to what it might be.

His stomach chose just that moment to growl, and the raised eyebrows Malfoy gave him were more than a little judgemental.

"... Yeah, I think I might be up for some dinner," Harry allowed after a moment, feeling his cheeks heat.

"Good to hear it. Meet you in the Atrium in ten minutes?"

"Sounds good." That gave Harry time enough to change out of his Auror robes, gather his things, and meet up with Malfoy without making him sit around the DMLE any longer.

The restaurant Malfoy had in mind was only two or three streets away; Harry had often passed by it, but he'd never been inside. So he was understandably a little uncomfortable to find that the place looked a bit swankier than he was used to.

He was definitely underdressed, for one thing.

Though Malfoy had asked Harry to dinner on the premise they would discuss the case, he did not seem totally inclined to jump right into it. As Harry looked around at the perhaps two dozen other pairs of patrons, he wondered how much privacy they may really have here, anyway. They hadn't been sat in the middle of the dining room, but neither were they tucked into a private corner. He saw a witch he recognised from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department, sitting with her husband two tables over, and nodded politely at her when she waved, still trying to pay attention to what Malfoy was saying, though it appeared to be only something regarding the wine selection.

"I'm not much of a wine person," Harry said, tuning back into the conversation. "And I don't think we should be drinking, if we're discussing the case." He'd tried that before, with Ron. It hadn't been at all helpful. They'd come up with nothing new, and all they'd had to show for it was a headache the next day at work.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "I wasn't suggesting we order it tonight, Potter. I said, if you're ever here in the future, that's my suggestion. It's a good vintage."

"I'll take your word for it," Harry said, nodding across the room at someone else who'd recognised him — a friend of Luna's, whose name he couldn't quite come up with. "Really, I wouldn't know what I was drinking, without someone to help, when it comes to wine or champagne."

There was a little scoffing noise, and Harry looked back at Malfoy to see an expression he couldn't quite name — something like amusement, but not quite. "Well, if you want lessons on it, when the case is done, just ask."

Harry made a noise of agreement, though he thought it supremely unlikely he'd ever take Malfoy up on that offer. Oddly enough, he was inclined to think the reason had more to do with his dislike of wine than his dislike of Malfoy.

... He did still dislike Malfoy, didn't he? He paused with his water glass at his lips, wondering how that was actually a question. He had no reason to feel anything else for the man, really. They'd scarcely had a real conversation that didn't involve either a tonne of sarcasm or been nothing but case details. There was no reason for Harry to feel anything other than grudging tolerance.

And yet, Harry didn't feel all that irritated right now.

He gave the mental equivalent of a shrug and put down his water glass. Perhaps this was what maturity felt like. He'd always been told he was lacking it, in some regards. Oddly enough, that was usually related to Draco Malfoy as a topic.

For all Harry's wondering, Malfoy finally put aside all other small talk once their food had arrived, leaning close over the table and asking if he was ready to get down to business. Harry nodded, considered the other patrons eating around them in this public place, and cast a _Muffliato_ to ensure them a bit of privacy. Now they could actually get down to work.

"I don't think it's all about gold, any more. We're going about this all wrong."

Harry nearly choked on his pasta. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The ultimate motive for the crimes, Potter, keep up. We'd been assuming it's all about wealth, or creating gold to, well, have more gold. Right?"

"That is what you'd been suggesting, isn't it?" Harry said, feeling a bit of that irritation resurface. "You're the expert, after all. That's why I brought you in, in the first place."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Yes, fine. What I'm saying, though, is that I don't think these crimes were all committed just so someone could expand their Gringotts vault. After the last few texts that were stolen, I'm starting to think the real goal here is for the thief to create their own Philosopher's Stone."

This time, Harry did choke a little. Malfoy waited for him to get it under control, which took a moment. "Philosopher's Stone? But that's really complex, isn't it? How do you jump from 'making gold' to making _that_? And what sort of thing would they want it for?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Potter, relax on this one. I get the feeling you've just jumped about six steps ahead, and gone straight to 'Voldemort wanted one, so thus they must be bad.' Please recall that the person who _made_ the particular stone in that case was a personal friend of Albus Dumbledore, and wanted the thing simply to get to live a long life with his beloved wife and be able to leisurely travel and experience the world. Just because some nutter wanted to get his hands on it for Dark purposes, doesn't make the artefact inherently Dark. Think of it like the Sword of Gryffindor or something — yes, it could feasibly be used to slice someone's head off or run them through, but it is equally capable of helping someone, as it did you. It matters more the intent of the person wielding the object. So, really, what we have to consider, is what our thief's intent may be."

"Immortality, most likely," Harry said, laying down his fork. He suddenly wasn't spectacularly hungry.

"Yes, that's possible," Malfoy allowed. "But it's not the only thing the stone would be capable of. It's necessary to make the Elixir of Life. But the stone, itself, can be used to transform any metal to gold. It's a shortcut, of sorts, in that regard. A good alchemist can transform other metals to gold, and there are actually a few ways to do it. Chemical methods, potions and refining fires, a number of things can be manipulated to get to that ultimate result. I've published papers on some of them, Potter, trust me. But it's also said that it could be used to amplify the user's knowledge of alchemy — not entirely unlike one of the properties of the Chalice of Clarity that was stolen recently, though far more powerful. At least, theoretically."

"Theoretically? You mean you don't even know? I thought, since you were one of the most gifted alchemists since Flamel himself, you'd have a bit more experience with it. Have you not been able to create one?"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, and his mouth quirked just a bit. "Potter. I don't know if you just don't always listen — which seems like a bad trait, for an Auror — or if you thought I wasn't being truthful, or even if you also just neglected some basic research into the person you chose as your expert consultant. But I've told you, and it's a known fact about me — I'm more personally interested in the theory and possibilities inherent in alchemy, than I am in the actual practice of it. I've never attempted the creation of a Philosopher's Stone. And I don't plan to ever try."

Harry gaped at him, just a little. "Seriously? If you're as good as everyone has ever said you are, why not?"

"I don't feel I need to. I have no desire to live forever, Potter. And I know well enough what can happen if someone wants to get their hands on that sort of object for the wrong reasons. I have enough blood on my hands; I don't need the knowledge that something I created was used for further devastation. There's enough guilt in my life keeping me from living the life I truly want. Why add to it?"

Harry... didn't know what to do with that. He had never really thought that Malfoy might really acknowledge his own part in the war, besides what he'd essentially been forced to admit in front of the Wizengamot. Hearing that Malfoy regularly thought of the consequences of his past actions was surprising, especially as he seemed utterly sincere. "Okay," he said after a moment. "I guess I can understand that. But if you're all about theory, are you telling me none of the gold in your own Gringotts vault is the result of alchemy? I mean, wouldn't you have to have actually created some, if you wrote about new methods in making it?"

The look Malfoy gave him was drily amused. "And now we're back to you not doing your research."

"Sorry?"

"Yes, of course I've changed other metals to gold. It's a basic principle of alchemy itself, Potter. But, strictly speaking, none of the gold in my vault is the result of alchemy." He shook his head. "You honestly don't know where all that gold went, do you?" When Harry answered in the negative, Malfoy smirked. "Perhaps you should look it up. See if it changes anything you think about me."

Harry let that one go. He did, however, make a note to check, because Malfoy was correct in his accusation that perhaps Harry hadn't done _all_ the research he should have. Not only would Hermione be disappointed (though probably not surprised) in him, but it _was_ shoddy Auror work, and Harry really didn't like to put anything but his best forward, in that regard. It had kept him alive.

"Have you considered," Malfoy asked later, as they were paying for their meal, "that perhaps the thief doesn't really see what they're doing as all that bad?"

"They're stealing, Malfoy. They have to know."

"Ah, yes, there's that. But didn't _you_ and your friends break into my aunt's vault and steal something out of it?"

"That was different!" Harry huffed, his hackles up instantly.

"Was it, though? That's what I'm saying, Potter. It's sometimes a matter of personal perspective. As far as flat-out, black-and-white facts are involved, you've broken a lot of laws, and even more rules. You disobeyed all those bloody decrees Umbridge made up. You defied heads of our own Ministry. You broke into a bank, gained illegal entry into a vault that wasn't yours, stole an item from it, and then _broke out_ of said bank, by way of dragon. You've even, if the stories are true, cast Unforgivables. While I'm not saying this wasn't all for some purpose that turned out to be good and, well, pure enough, you did commit illegal acts to accomplish your means."

Harry just blinked. He'd had reporters and detractors during the war say all sorts of rubbish things about him, had a number of ridiculous rumours spread around, especially during that year he was Undesirable Number One, and yet, Malfoy had just laid out a list of his literal crimes in a way that no one else really had — especially not since he'd defeated Voldemort.

It made him feel just the slightest bit sick to look at it like that, and to realise just how fully everyone had turned a blind eye to the rules he had violated because he'd done something that ultimately had helped the world. He'd thought — he'd known, even — that his ending goal was important enough that he had to achieve it through any means necessary, and that some of the rules he'd broken were ridiculous. But what if Malfoy was right, and others Harry had already judged guilty, as they were criminals as far as the letter of the law was concerned, had been themselves acting out of a similar belief?

Harry really could have done without the unexpected ethics lesson. It made him feel off-balance. Especially coming, as it had, from none other than Draco Malfoy.

He was still mulling some of it over when they stepped out of the restaurant, and perhaps that was how Harry found himself agreeing to follow Malfoy back to the Manor for more discussion and a chance to look at the notes Malfoy had jotted in one of his personal journals in his laboratory, without really being aware he was doing so.

They were arguing amicably about the current Quidditch season — and the fact that Malfoy was a Puddlemere United fan was absurd, given their record the last two seasons — when Malfoy led Harry through the front door. His laughter died less than a dozen steps inside, and he saw that Malfoy had gone similarly sombre. Harry had only been to the Manor three times in his entire life, but there was a feeling in the air that felt oppressive. But before he could comment on it, Malfoy turned to him, looking even paler than usual.

"Something's wrong."

 

===

 

Not that long ago, Harry would likely have countered Malfoy's declaration with a snotty "oh, really?" or something along those lines, out of sheer habit. But there was no mistaking that something felt off, even just here in the foyer of the Manor. It was a feeling Harry equated deeply with on-scene work as an Auror and a few particular instances during his school years. It put him on high alert, and so he just nodded and waited for Malfoy to perhaps elaborate on what felt different to him, as this was his home, and he'd know better than anyone.

"Wobbly?" Malfoy called out, voice echoing off the marble floor, and Harry winced. It was like all the Muggle horror films he'd ever seen had just decided to move to this location, with him and Malfoy as characters. Harry supposed that, as Malfoy had likely never seen a horror film, he didn't know that calling out in a large, empty house was just asking for some axe-wielding psychopath to pop out of the shadows. He also hadn't had the benefit of Auror training, which stressed stealth when you found yourself in a situation such as this.

"He always greets anyone coming through the door," Malfoy said a moment later. Harry realised that, while Malfoy looked upset, it did not appear to be over the failure of his house-elf to greet him or a guest appropriately. It looked more like genuine concern. "He's never in bed this early, in any case." He called out once more for the house-elf, directly requesting his presence, but the only answer was silence. "This really isn't like him." Malfoy ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Don't suppose you'll stay until I can find out where he's gone?"

"You can count on it, actually," Harry said, letting himself slip a bit further into Auror mode. His wand was already out, and he noted with approval that Malfoy had drawn his as well.

He let Malfoy lead him through the Manor's lower level, passing by the dining room, ballroom, and two living rooms as they went. Nothing seemed to catch Malfoy's notice, and even Harry didn't see anything obviously suspicious.

The door to Malfoy's laboratory, however, was halfway open, and Malfoy stopped short at seeing it. "This was shut when I left," he murmured, and Harry nodded, casting two quick spells inside the room, tightening his grip on his wand when a very faint blue orb pulsed once a second later, hanging just in front of Harry's wand.

"There's someone inside," Harry whispered. "But they're alone." He drew himself up. "Watch out. I'll go first." It may have been Malfoy's home, but Harry was the Auror here, and he'd be damned if he let a civilian put themselves in harm's way. He made his way carefully inside the laboratory, but could not see anyone. There wasn't so much as a rustling curtain or muffled footstep to be heard. After a moment, Harry lit one of the lamps on Malfoy's workbench, illuminating the state of disarray on the desk — papers scattered in a way that seemed distinctly unlike Malfoy's semi-prissy style of organisation, phials and bottles overturned — but he stilled when the flame flickered and cast light on the figure a few feet behind the table, amongst glittering shards of broken glass.

Malfoy, who had moved in behind him, closer than Harry would have advised, caught the same figure. "Wobbly?"

 

===

 

With the room fully illuminated a moment later, Harry took stock of the situation. Wobbly was alive, though unconscious. He didn't seem to be acutely injured; the basic triage training Harry had as a part of his Auror training ascertained that he was in no immediate danger. Someone had obviously been in here and, as best as Harry could tell from a preliminary assessment, Wobbly had either confronted them intentionally, or startled them. He was virtually positive things were missing, but he'd yet to confirm that with Malfoy, who was more focused on trying to revive his house-elf.

"All right," he said, taking a deep breath. Malfoy looked up at him from where he was crouched on the floor at Wobbly's side. "That's it. I'm calling for a bit of backup. I'd like another Auror here to take statements and help investigate the scene."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because I don't want my word to be the only one, here. Not since we found the scene together, and accidentally. If there's a chance of a question of bias, I want to head that off ahead of time."

"Right," Malfoy muttered. "Biased _towards_ me. That's a new one."

Harry ignored that, figuring that one, it was true enough, from Malfoy's perspective, and two, he was still worried about his house-elf and thus was understandably a little cross. Stepping just outside of the laboratory, but keeping close enough in the hall that he could see Malfoy from where he stood, Harry sent off a message by Patronus.

It was less than five minutes later that Auror Peakridge found her way into the laboratory, and Harry tried to stifle a groan that he'd ended up with a junior Auror on the case.

"So what've we got here, Potter?" Peakridge asked, surveying the state of the laboratory around her. "Breaking and entering, perhaps theft?"

"Definitely theft," Malfoy grumbled from his place behind the workbench, where he'd got Wobbly revived and was assisting him in standing. "Give me a damned minute to get Wobbly back to his quarters, and I'll give you both a proper list."

Peakridge looked at the house-elf, who now looked very much his name as he tottered on his feet, and raised her eyebrows. After a moment, she turned to Harry. "Um," she whispered, looking a little flushed. "Are we also talking assault, here? Do we count crimes against... uh... non-wizard magical beings?"

Harry wanted to bang his head on the nearest surface, on Hermione's absent behalf. She'd probably have had kittens if she'd heard that.

He didn't even get a chance to answer before Malfoy was glaring at the junior Auror. "Yes. Assault. I'd like to file that charge, as—"

"Er, right, I wasn't saying it wasn't an option," Peakridge said, looking flustered. "Of course, as your servant —"

"He's a resident of this house!" Malfoy snapped. "And I know you have a job to do, so why don't you get on that, while I make sure Wobbly is taken care of." He Apparated away, Wobbly with him, and Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Is he always bloody like that?" Peakridge muttered, straightening her robes.

"More or less," Harry said with a shrug. In the few weeks he'd been reacquainted with Malfoy, he'd come to believe that he was significantly less of a prat than he had been in school. That didn't mean, however, that some of those traits hadn't remained. Merlin knew there were still moments he sort of wanted to throttle the man. Hell, there was a reason Malfoy now had twenty-six tally marks on his own sheet of paper in Harry's desk. "He's right, though. We should get to work. Why don't you cover the area near the front of the laboratory, and I'll start work on this area behind the desk?" Peakridge nodded at him and began casting the first of the crime scene investigation spells they'd all been taught. Harry watched with approval for just a moment — she was certainly one of the more promising junior Aurors on the squad, though definitely still a little green — and bent to his own tasks.

Harry was just wrapping up gathering any sort of forensic evidence he could find — of which there was virtually none — and getting ready to track Malfoy down so he could give Peakridge his statement while Harry questioned Wobbly, when Beeland came crashing through the door to the laboratory, even more irritating than usual.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Harry snapped, in no mood to deal with Beeland's particular brand of annoying. "And this is an active crime scene, at the moment, so watch your bloody step, would you?"

Beeland just shot him a look. "You have a junior Auror, here, Potter. You know protocol. Junior Aurors are supposed to be accompanied by a more senior member of the squad when investigating a crime scene."

"And what am I, dragon dung?" Beeland muttered something under his breath that Harry didn't have to catch to know was derogatory. "Care to repeat that?"

"You could use another experienced Auror here, Potter, since you were with the supposed victim upon the discovery of whatever crimes he's claiming were committed."

"And you're the one we lucked into," Harry said with a snort. "Figures." He shook his head and moved to step past Beeland. "Just stay out of my way." Something caught his eye, and he nodded at Beeland's left hand. "And get that taken care of, would you? How'd you even manage that?"

Beeland looked down at his hand, where dried blood was smeared around a fresh wound. "Bloody peacock," he muttered. "In the way when I Apparated."

Harry rolled his eyes and shoved past the man, headed for where he thought Malfoy had taken Wobbly, from what he knew of the Manor's layout. He'd only made his way down two corridors when he nearly ran into Malfoy, coming around the corner. "Sorry," they said in unison, and Harry shook his head. "I was trying to find you. Do you think Wobbly would be up to giving his statement and answering some questions?"

Malfoy nodded slowly. "He assures me he's fine, but he's to be spending the rest of the evening in bed. I've told him your colleague is not a guest and is not to be treated as such, really, but he didn't seem satisfied with that statement. Here, come with me. I'll show you to his quarters."

"I'm surprised you didn't just order him to stay put, since he has to obey you and all."

Malfoy turned his head and gave Harry a look. "He doesn't have to obey me at all, Potter."

"But he's your house-elf."

"And he's _wearing clothes_ , in case you hadn't noticed, you git. You think house-elves just happen upon custom-tailored outfits and put them on without consideration? He's been free since the day he came to the Manor four years ago."

"You _gave him his freedom_?"

"Why is that so hard for you to believe?" Malfoy sighed. "Wait, don't answer that. I know why. And I can't say I blame you entirely, given our history. But the fact remains. He's a free elf."

"So why does he still do all of the things he'd do if he weren't free? Like answer the doors and attend to guests, and whatever else he does with his time?"

The look Malfoy gave him was pointed. "I'm sorry, have you never known any other house -elf who had a deep sense of dedication, and was acting out of genuine affection for a wizard of their choosing?"

Harry, who thought of not only Dobby and his friendship, but also of Kreacher and his devotion to Regulus Black, felt a bit sheepish. "Okay. Fair enough."

"Right. Here we are." Malfoy opened the door after knocking softly, then hesitated. "Shall I stay while you speak to him?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I know you're not technically his master, even if that's how he addresses you, but it's easier to ask questions when someone's not looking over their shoulder to see if they've given approved responses. Besides, I need you to give your official statement to Peakridge. Give her the list of whatever you find has been taken, as well. I'll meet up with you soon." He sighed. "And try to cooperate with Beeland."

Malfoy's head snapped up so he could look more directly at Harry. "Why the hell is _he_ here, in my home?"

"It's just departmental protocol rubbish," Harry said, knowing that they'd been graced with the presence of the last Auror either of them wanted to deal with, especially on a night like this one. Not that he randomly showed up in the field on cases that weren't highly publicised, but Harry honestly would have preferred Chadwick popping into the Manor this evening instead.

Malfoy grunted, but stepped away from the door so Harry could enter. As he retreated back down the corridor, Harry distinctly heard him mutter "more like Auror Bell-End, if you ask me", before turning the corner.

Harry felt that he could kiss Malfoy for that. Nearly. Or, well, at least give him a hug. Okay. A handshake. He settled on that, the next time they were alone in the same room, and nodded to himself. He did have the sudden image of him surprising the hell out of Malfoy, giving him a kiss for making the same joke Harry always heard in his head and missed sharing with someone else, and tried to ignore how the thought made him want to grin, and not run for the hills.

He shook his head to clear it. That might be something to examine later (or not, really, if he wanted to retain his sanity) but, for now, he had a job to do, and a house-elf to interview.

 

===

 

Harry couldn't tell if he was simply asking the wrong questions, or if the hit Wobbly had taken that had rendered him unconscious might still be impairing him, mentally.

Either way, this was not the sort of information he'd been expecting to receive this evening.

"Tell me again," Harry said slowly, wondering how he'd possibly heard the previous statement correctly, "how you knew Malfoy wasn't going to be home this evening?"

"Master Draco said not to wait up for him, sir, because he said he wanted to take Harry Potter out for a nice evening and prove he wasn't a prat."

Harry tried to examine that statement from an angle besides the most direct one, and found he was having a hard time doing so. "Okay. Well. Moving on. You said that you heard someone enter the laboratory, but you knew it wasn't Malfoy. How did you know it wasn't him coming home early?"

"Master Draco's footsteps never sound like that, sir. He's very light on his feet, Wobbly knows that. These footsteps were heavier."

"Did you get a look at this intruder, before you were stunned, Wobbly?"

"Oh, yes, sir," Wobby said, nodding vigorously, then swaying a bit where he sat. "Wobbly called out, because Wobbly thought he might be mistaken. But then the gentleman turned around, and Wobbly knew he'd been right."

"Right about what, exactly?"

"The person in the laboratory only _looked_ like Master Draco, but not quite right. The nose was different. And then he hexed Wobbly, and Master Draco would _never_ do that, sir. He's a better man, even if Harry Potter doesn't believe it."

Harry, who did actually believe it in some form, from all his interactions with Malfoy over the last couple of weeks, blinked. "Why wouldn't I believe it?"

"Master Draco says Harry Potter doesn't like him on account of his past childish actions."

Well, that wasn't _entirely_ untrue....

"And how do you know these things?" Harry asked, giving up on sticking to a stricter line of questioning for just a moment.

"Master Draco tells Wobbly things, sometimes, sir. And sometimes he talks to himself while he's working, and Wobbly is nearby. Wobbly thinks Master Draco is lonely."

Harry didn't really know what to do with that one, so he just sort of left it alone.

After ten more minutes of questions, Harry had a better idea of what had happened in the laboratory that evening, but only marginally so. He was still musing on the fact that the person who'd broken in had resembled Malfoy quite closely, except for a few distinct features, and tried to think if he knew of anyone — on his list of suspects or not — who looked anything like Malfoy. On that particular end, he was coming up a bit short.

He was also coming up short on reasons Malfoy would have said things about him either to or around his house-elf, especially as Wobbly made it sound as though Malfoy had been doing it for quite a lot longer than Harry had needed his help on this case.

"Thank you for your time, Wobbly," Harry finally said, not really much closer to having answers than when he'd entered the room. "I appreciate your help."

"Of course, sir. Wobbly just hopes Master Draco gets his things back. And that he lets Wobbly return to his work soon. The blood does need to be cleaned before it stains. Would Harry Potter let Master Draco know Wobbly is anxious to get back to work?"

"Yes, of course," Harry said, standing up to leave. He didn't entirely understand house-elves and their motivations, but Wobbly seemed well cared for, and Harry couldn't deny that Malfoy had seemed genuinely concerned for this one's well-being. Hell, Wobbly even had his own pair of soft-looking pyjamas and fluffy slippers, which looked so unusual on a house-elf that Harry had tried not to stare for a moment when he'd first entered the room. Those, at least, had not been green and silver, but a bright, cheerful yellow with orange spots that made Harry certain Wobbly had chosen the colour himself.

He hadn't even fully entered the laboratory when he felt the irritation radiating from both Malfoy and Beeland, though they were on opposite sides of the room. Poor Peakridge looked as if she were considering hexing them both as she bent over a sheet of parchment and made some notes upon it. Given that Beeland was lounging in a chair in the corner, playing idly with his wand instead of doing anything actually useful, Harry could see the reason for some irritation on both Peakridge and Malfoy's behalf.

"Anything useful?" Peakridge asked as Harry approached. She looked hopeful. Whether that was because she wanted to have another solved case with her name somewhere on the record, or because she just wanted out of the Manor and away from two people who could fairly be called 'difficult', Harry didn't know.

"Somewhat," Harry answered with a shrug. "How about here?"

"Definite list of what was taken," she said, gesturing him over. "Two texts from this room, another from the library, two personal journals, and one Dark artefact." She shuffled some things around on the workbench until she found another piece of parchment, this one bearing the Ministry seal. "Ah, yes, here we go. Hand of Glory."

When Harry whirled around to look at Malfoy, all he really received was a defensive look. "I _do_ have a permit for it," he said testily, and Harry wanted to take back all of the positive things he'd thought about him over the last two weeks and perhaps reach over and give him a good shaking, as well. Why the fuck did Malfoy still have the Hand of Glory? Harry was surprised it had survived all this time and hadn't been destroyed or discarded after Malfoy had used it to let Death Eaters into the castle years ago. The very thought made him feel betrayed in some way.

"So I see," he managed, trying for all he was worth to remain professional. If asked before now if Malfoy had possessed any Dark artefacts, he would have answered that he did, in fact, believe that to be the case. Harry knew Lucius Malfoy had owned scores of them over the last few decades, and that Draco had grown up with them around and quite possibly in a place of pride. But hearing that Malfoy had that specific item brought back too many unpleasant memories, and Harry had a hard time letting certain things go.

"It's not what you think," Malfoy said quietly at his side while he signed the statement Peakridge had handed back several moments later. "I can explain."

Harry, who wanted to be able to give him the benefit of the doubt, nodded tersely. He had no idea what Malfoy had ready as an explanation, and it wasn't as if he really _had_ to provide one. He thought back to Wobbly's comment about Malfoy being a better person, and tried to make himself relax, at least until he heard whatever Malfoy wanted to say.

"Are you coming back to the Ministry?" Peakridge asked him a few minutes later, as she and Beeland prepared to leave the Manor.

Harry turned and looked at Malfoy. He was standing at his workbench, looking incredibly tense. Harry supposed that wasn't at all unusual, given that he'd just been burgled. "I think I'm going to stick around here for a bit. Maybe help tidy up, and see if we can't come up with some more theories, in light of tonight's events."

"Don't get too attached to your boyfriend," Beeland muttered, and Malfoy jolted as if hit with a Stinging Hex. "Things seem awfully suspicious, if you ask me." He dropped his voice, leaning close to Harry. "Wouldn't surprise me if he'd staged the whole thing, to take suspicion off himself."

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry said, stepping away from Beeland, who just shrugged and walked out of the laboratory ahead of Peakridge. Besides the obvious fact that Malfoy wasn't Harry's boyfriend, Harry thought it ludicrous that Beeland had even suggested such a thing. Objectively speaking, he could see a few circumstances that might lead someone else in that direction. Malfoy had taken him out to dinner, to a place where they'd definitely been seen together — and when Peakridge had raised her eyebrows when Harry had mentioned where they'd been before reaching the Manor, confirming Malfoy's version of events, Harry'd just shrugged off her half-joking comment about it being one of those places known for a romantic ambiance. He'd honestly not noticed that bit, being so focussed on the case they were supposed to be discussing. But the conspicuous restaurant selection could be seen as Malfoy trying to ensure he had an alibi. Whomever was committing these thefts apparently resembled Malfoy closely enough, as D'Argento had given a basic (though limited) description that fit him. Even Wobbly had said the person in the laboratory had looked enough like Malfoy for him to pause. But D'Argento knew Malfoy, something Malfoy himself had mentioned; if they'd had dinner together a handful of times, had worked side-by-side while Malfoy was getting a start in alchemy, then D'Argento would surely have mentioned him by name, even if he'd only had a suspicion.

Things weren't adding up, and it was driving Harry a little mad.

Excusing himself to the library under the guise of giving the place a look around in case Peakridge and Beeland had overlooked anything, Harry left Malfoy alone in the laboratory. As soon as he was alone, he checked the time, then located Malfoy's store of Floo Powder, thankful this particular fireplace was hooked up to the Floo Network.

Auror Chadwick, however, did not seem similarly thankful.

"Look, Potter, I'm not even going to ask how you managed to access my Floo at home from wherever it is that you are right now in order to make a firecall. But given that it's dinner time, and I was just getting ready to sit down with my wife and children, I'm going to trust you have a good enough reason to get hold of me like this. So, out with it."

Harry, who should perhaps have thought this through just a little more, hesitated for just a moment before blurting out the thing he'd been wondering. "Is it possible that someone could have planted devices around the Ministry, or even the DMLE, for surveillance purposes?"

Chadwick was silent, and Harry was afraid for a moment that he was simply going to end the call. "You mean, is it possible that someone outside the Ministry managed to sneak into a department full of Aurors and found a way to spy on them, for whatever reason?"

"Well, yes, perhaps."

"Because, if I'm following your line of reasoning, Potter, you're concerned investigation information is being leaked or compromised, and the option is that, or that we have a mole within the department."

"... Something like that, yes."

Chadwick was quiet for a moment more. "That's an incredibly serious allegation, in either case, Potter. If you have some sort of evidence for believing in that possibility, I'd like a more detailed report from you tomorrow, so we can evaluate the appropriate course of action."

"Right, of course." Harry wondered exactly how he was going to come up with the required evidence, looking around as if some book on Malfoy's shelves might contain the answer, when he saw a dark smudge across the binding of one title. "Fucking Beeland, making a mess," Harry muttered, reaching out to get a better look at the dried blood on the leather.

"Don't even get me started on you two," Chadwick said, sounding more than a bit irritated. "Why do you think I sent you Peakridge instead?"

Harry paused with his thumb below the smear of blood. It was dry, but didn't look very old, from its colour. "Sorry?"

"You should be. You two have never worked well together. I reasoned you and Peakridge would be more likely to successfully investigate whatever went on at Draco Malfoy's home tonight, even if she _is_ only a junior Auror. Now, if you don't mind, my children are calling. I'll see you tomorrow morning, Potter. And you'd better have a good argument ready."

Harry barely paid attention as the flames changed back to their original appearance. His thumb still rested below the mark that had caught his attention. His mind was spinning, ideas and theories settling in new places. Beeland had arrived to help with the investigation, or at least filing of reports. But Chadwick had made it very clear he'd not been the one to send him. Chadwick, having been in the office at the time Harry had sent his Patronus, was the only one with the authority to actually give that assignment, as things stood. And yet Beeland had arrived, knowing there had been a crime committed. It was possible he'd heard Harry's request and had come of his own volition, perhaps even just for the simple reason that he thought Malfoy was guilty in the other cases and wanted to indulge in a bit of schadenfreude, using his position as an Auror to gain access.

But that didn't explain the blood.

Harry didn't know for certain if Beeland's claim about an aggressive peacock had been true or not — he'd seen them around the Manor's grounds before, and so it was certainly possible — but the wound Harry had spotted earlier had been fresh. Had it, however, been fresh enough to have been only a few minutes old? Harry didn't know.

What he _did_ know was that Wobbly had made mention of wanting to be able to clean up some blood once Malfoy allowed him to return to his preferred tasks. In and of itself, that wasn't odd. What was odd was that Wobbly hadn't been in the library after Beeland had arrived. Malfoy had Apparated them both to Wobbly's quarters from the laboratory. If he himself had been bleeding, perhaps struck by an object, that would be one thing. But a brief looking over of the house-elf, along with Wobbly's own statement regarding what had happened — and he _had_ mentioned checking the library for Malfoy before hearing a noise in the laboratory — confirmed that there was no physical injury there. For Wobbly to know about the blood, he'd have had to have seen it before he was knocked unconscious.

Harry didn't like where this was pointing.

"Look, Potter, I just wanted you to know that I don't blame you for not being thrilled to hear about the Hand of Glory. I know you're aware that I used it back in school. I just... look, there's nothing I can say that really fixes anything that's already happened. I just don't feel that destroying bits of our history fixes anything. In fact, I think it does the opposite. We are who we are because of the decisions we make. I made a lot of poor choices. And I kept it, not really for the practical use it could be, or because it was valuable in a way, but because it was a reminder of who I was at that point, and what choices I'd made, and it's not something I want to forget entirely. I do have other Dark artefacts, all with the required permits, but most of those are family heirlooms and the like. This is a personal reminder, of what I was and how much I'll always have to work to not return to that place. Do you understand?" When Harry didn't answer, Malfoy moved closer, then stepped around so as to face him, face shuttered. "Did you even hear me, or is ignoring me your response to my explanation?"

"I think we may have had a break in the case."

Malfoy stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. "Care to enlighten me?"

"First answer this for me: the peacocks on your property — do they roam free, or do they have an enclosure?"

"Something closer to the first option. There are the gates at the front of the property, of course, but the edge of the main garden is lightly charmed. It deters them from walking past that point. They stick to the back of the property, and rarely even approach the Manor's back entrances. Why the question about the peacocks?"

"Beeland claims to have been attacked by one."

"Well, that's his bloody fault for being that far out on the property! No one invited him out that far."

"No one invited him at all, actually."

"What?"

"I just spoke with Chadwick. He happened to mention that he sent Peakridge because he didn't think Beeland and I could work together on this."

"Well, it's not like he was any bloody help, really. He just directed Peakridge around and told her some of her questions were pointless, and then insinuated I had somehow staged everything and stunned Wobbly myself. Wait. Do you mean he showed up here on his own, without being assigned?"

"Yes."

"Why the hell would he do that? Is he just that rude, to come here and make accusations against me in my own home? Why interfere with an actual investigation like that?"

"I think interfering with the investigation was precisely what he was doing." Harry explained the discovery of the blood on the book binding and how, paired with Wobbly's earlier comment, things just didn't line up unless someone had been in there beforehand. "I can't prove it's his blood, just this moment, but with all of the other oddities, things feel out of place. There's been virtually no forensic evidence in any of these cases, from the very start. What if that's because the person breaking in has knowledge of standard investigation procedures?"

Malfoy looked at him, awareness dawning over his features. "Well, if he is behind this, on any level, how do we catch him? He looks nothing like either Wobbly or D'Argento described. How do we make certain he's involved?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't have a good answer for that. "Hell if I know. It's not practical to tail him at all times."

"Well," Draco said slowly, as if working out the basics of a plan as he spoke. "Given what was stolen here tonight, I'm more certain the goal is making a new Philosopher's Stone. One of the journals that was stolen was devoted entirely to the alchemical theories behind it. And the other was one of Flamel's."

"Tell me our thief doesn't have the notebook Flamel wrote all of his secrets in."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Don't be dim, Potter. _I_ have that one. But I'm not daft enough to just leave it lying around in plain view, especially knowing there have been a number of thefts lately."

"And how the hell do _you_ have that journal?"

"I do have the financial means to acquire such a thing, you know."

"Is that where all the gold you've created went?"

Malfoy smirked. "No. Nice try. I told you, look it up. It's a matter of record, if you know where to look. You're an Auror, Potter. Investigate. Now, as to this theory of yours. What if we were to happen to converse in the DMLE tomorrow, at your desk? I might inform you that, while having my things stolen is very upsetting, I'm at least grateful the thief didn't choose to break in after tomorrow night, when I'd be meeting with a contemporary from Germany, to compare notes on methods to create another Philosopher's Stone? I could mention that I know he's staying with another acquaintance of ours, a retired alchemist who has a laboratory in London, and mention that I would be heading there tomorrow. See if he takes the bait. Merlin knows that, if this were all true, such a theft would point to me at least a fraction."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. It wasn't the best idea in the world for a sting operation, but Harry didn't have anything better in mind. He'd so far been unsuccessful at finding a way to anticipate where the thief would strike next.

"All right. We'll give it a go. What could it hurt?"

 

===

 

Rather than spend the morning trying to appear casual as he awaited Malfoy's visit to the Ministry, Harry took it upon himself to visit the Ministry archives, availing himself of the help he needed to accomplish his goals.

But first, he needed to speak to Chadwick.

"I really don't appreciate where I think you're going with this, Potter," Chadwick said, looking much older than he had ten minutes prior, when they'd yet to begin this conversation. "I hope to Merlin you're wrong. And if you _are_ wrong, I expect one hell of an apology."

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir." He thought of all the tally marks on the pad of paper in his desk, the ones he'd been adding up over the years, and how he might not be adding nearly as many in the future, if he were right — and how, if he were wrong, he'd be adding them in spades for the rest of his days as an Auror. He gathered the piece of parchment Auror Chadwick had just signed and tucked it into an inner pocket of his robes. "Thank you, sir."

Chadwick reached out a hand and touched Harry briefly. "I'm only doing this because, regardless of all the hell I've given you over the years, I know you're one of our better Aurors, Potter. Your case record alone proves that. Don't make me regret this decision."

Harry nodded, walking out without saying anything else. If he did his job correctly, if he proved he was indeed that good an Auror, Chadwick likely _was_ going to regret some things.

After four hours in the archives, Harry felt he had enough to back up his suspicions regarding Beeland being up to something. There were a number of reasons the man might want a large amount of gold, and even a reason or two he might try to get his hands on something like a Philosopher's Stone. Harry could even feel a bit of pity for him. But that didn't change things.

With that accomplished, Harry turned his focus to other things he'd been neglecting. And when it came to the matter of Draco Malfoy and all of the things Harry hadn't really bothered to look into, he really didn't know what to make of it all.

He knew where all of the gold created through alchemical means had gone, for one thing. And Harry'd had to read it four separate times to make certain he hadn't been seeing things.

Thousands of Galleons' worth of gold at this point, from everything Harry could find. And not one speck of it had made its way into the Malfoy Gringotts vault.

A little had gone to the purchase of a small cottage in coastal France, now inhabited by both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Going through records pertaining to that transaction, Harry had found not only that Malfoy had bought the cottage back from someone who had purchased it from the Malfoys a few years before he was born, but that that was how he'd come to have Wobbly in his care, direct from his employment with the other family, and then with the elder Malfoys.

The rest, however....

The rest had gone to various charities. They ranged in type from orphanages to hospitals to the preservation of Wizarding history. But the largest amounts had gone directly to the fund to repair damage done to the Hogwarts castle and grounds, and to one of the organisations that had built the memorial park that had been completed just last year.

Harry sat back and rubbed his temples after learning that fact. He heard Wobbly's voice in his head, stating Malfoy was a better man than he'd been in his youth, and thought about Wobbly's comment that Malfoy had wanted to prove he wasn't a prat. He even recalled Malfoy wondering if perhaps Harry learning what had happened to all that gold might change what he thought of him.

Harry knew Malfoy hadn't made these donations simply to influence what Harry thought of him, as the first of them had been made years before, no matter what Wobbly had said. He tried to recall what Malfoy had said last night, in trying to explain why he'd kept the Hand of Glory, when Harry had been too focussed on other things to properly listen. There had been something about needing to be reminded how hard he had to work to keep from becoming the person he used to be, how he wanted to be better, make better decisions.

It was very hard work to change yourself for the better, in any regard. Harry knew that, having tried to come to terms with his propensity to anger quickly and make snap judgments and rash decisions. The fact that Draco Malfoy had recognised what an utter prat he'd been and made the conscious decision to try to improve himself... well, it said a lot, much of it far more favourable than Harry would have assumed.

Having so many of his world truths challenged today was giving Harry a bit of a headache.

As far as their bit of playacting went, however, things were smoother than Harry had expected. Malfoy had seemed far more casual about their interaction than he had been in inviting Harry to dinner last night. Harry hadn't seen Beeland walk past at all — or indeed even walk through the department at all since yesterday — but he had to have faith that he'd been correct in thinking the information would get back to Beeland in some way. After their conversation, Malfoy left the DMLE, presumably to clean up and prepare for his meeting with his non-existent contemporary, and Harry was left to finish the rest of his shift, thankful when he had the chance to help investigate an instance of an argument over Quidditch prospects this season turning a little overzealous in a pub up in Manchester. Having the chance to do something physical, like separating the two wizards engaged in an impromptu duel, was familiar and almost calming, all things considered.

It was eight in the evening when Malfoy approached quietly, settling himself next to Harry, who was busy watching the entrance to the old laboratory Malfoy had mentioned this afternoon. Though he hadn't used it in months, Malfoy kept a small space available for experiments he deemed too loud or noxious to do at his laboratory at the Manor. It was there he'd mentioned meeting with Wolfgang Krause — a man Harry learned really was an alchemist, though he hadn't travelled outside of Germany in nearly fifty years. All there really was to do was... well, sit and wait.

The longer they sat together in silence, the more Harry felt Malfoy's tension grow beside him. He knew that stakeouts were tedious, and sometimes the anticipation got to people. At first, it seemed that was all that was going on here. But the more Malfoy fidgeted, the more Harry noticed that there was something else to it. Half a dozen times, Malfoy opened his mouth as if to say something, only to shut it again without speaking. After the seventh or eighth time, Harry put his hand on Malfoy's shoulder and squeezed. He felt Malfoy stiffen awkwardly at the touch. "Relax," Harry murmured. "It could be a few hours more, if this even works out at all."

Malfoy closed his eyes and tilted his head back, as if addressing the heavens. "Merlin help me," he groaned softly, and then abruptly stood. "Right. I'm going get some air. I won't be long."

Harry blinked. It felt an awful lot like Malfoy was fleeing. Still, he nodded. "Not a bad idea. I'll do a quick walk around the perimeter. I'll meet back up with you in ten minutes." Nodding briefly, Malfoy stood and walked away, leaving Harry to wonder what exactly that had been about.

He was almost all of the way through his rounds when he saw Malfoy coming around the side of the building. Harry caught his attention with a nod, frowning when Malfoy stopped short. He'd had a bit of time to think as he made his circuit around the place, and he thought he might have an idea what had Malfoy so fidgety earlier.

"I don't believe Krause is here yet," Malfoy said stiffly, and Harry nodded in agreement. He supposed it was best to stick to their cover story where people on the street could overhear them. "I think I'm good here," he said with a pointed look in the other direction, as if Harry should be on his way. His voice sounded off, and Harry sighed. They weren't going to get anywhere without addressing the elephant in the room. He wondered what Malfoy would think, knowing that Harry had been thinking about this intensely for the last several hours.

"I talked to Wobbly, you know," Harry said, trying to be gentle about it. "He told me some things, but you might not want me to have heard them."

Malfoy went pale for a moment, then stood up straight and cleared his throat. "Whatever he says about how I treat him, it's my right. He's my servant."

Harry's eyes widened just a fraction. He replayed that statement in his head while taking in the cut of Malfoy's cloak, wrapped around his shoulders. Harry knew Malfoy's usual autumn cloak, a basic black wool thing with suede trim around the collar. He'd had it in his hands last week as he'd run to return it when Malfoy had left it sitting on the chair, and he'd noticed then how well-made it seemed to be, and how soft. The cloak Malfoy was wearing now was made of a rougher wool all around, just a plain black without any accent or trim. Malfoy wouldn't wear something like this. And there was no way he'd say something like that about Wobbly.

"Of course it is," Harry said, striving for casual as he got a better grip on his wand. Malfoy's eyes went to the movement, but Harry was faster, shouting an _Incarcerous_ before the other man's wand was even fully drawn.

Harry shook his head at the bound figure at his feet as the real Malfoy ran up to them, likely alerted by Harry's shout. "Potter?" Malfoy said, sounding a little breathless. "What the hell is...?" He trailed off, getting a good look at the person at their feet. "No, actually, just what the hell in general?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Malfoy, meet the person behind the alchemy-related thefts."

Malfoy crouched down, nearly nose-to-nose with his double. "Polyjuice?"

"Looks that way." Sending a quick message to Chadwick via Patronus, Harry kept his eyes on their thief. After a few long moments, Malfoy's pointy noise gave way to one that was wide and flat, and Harry felt a surge of victory mixed with dismay. He knew that nose. He'd fantasised about punching that nose at least a hundred times over the last few years. "Beeland," Harry said, unsure how to label everything he was feeling. On the one hand, he'd been right about things. Perhaps this was why Harry had never really got along with the other Auror, at least in some small part. But on the other, the man was an Auror. He'd closed cases. He'd put people in Azkaban.

And now it appeared he'd be joining them.

Chadwick arrived on the scene not two minutes later, and the expression on his face when he got a good look at Beeland — who was rapidly looking more like himself as the seconds went on — was despair mixed with horror. Harry actually felt bad for him. Beeland had always been Chadwick's pet. As much of an arse as Chadwick had often been — especially to him and Ron — Harry had never doubted his dedication to the Aurors and desire to run the rest of the squad well. To find out his favourite Auror had been hiding behind his badge and using it to commit crimes probably didn't sit well with him at all.

"How did you know it wasn't me?" Malfoy asked as Chadwick and another of the more senior Aurors Disapparated with Beeland in tow, sitting down beside Harry on the steps to the building. "It wore off quickly, but even when I got to him, he looked exactly like me."

Harry's mouth quirked up on one side. "I brought up a subject I thought needed to be addressed. He answered in a way that told me it wasn't you, right away."

Malfoy cleared his throat after a moment. "What did you say to him?"

"I told him Wobbly told me everything."

Malfoy went very pink, which was the opposite of the reaction Beeland had had. "And what did he say?"

"He told me it was his right to treat his house-elf however he wanted, because Wobbly was his."

"And... and that made you certain it wasn't me?"

"Wobbly's a free elf, Malfoy. Beeland didn't seem aware of that. Besides, not only did I see the way you acted when he was hurt, but Wobbly himself seemed utterly perplexed the one time he thought I was alluding to you ever mistreating him."

"And to think," Malfoy said drily, "five or ten years ago, any answer but the one Beeland gave you would have been the suspicious one." He paused. "What is it, precisely, that Wobbly told you?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Given your reaction, you have your own idea. What do you think?"

Malfoy went pinker still. "I'd say it's likely he let it slip that I have a bit of a crush on you."

"Er... something perhaps slightly along those lines."

"Slightly along those lines?" Malfoy asked hoarsely. "If you mean to tell me I just admitted that without you knowing —"

"I had an inkling, Malfoy," Harry cut him off. Granted, he hadn't had that exact suspicion until earlier today, but Malfoy didn't need to know that. The point was, Harry wasn't scared off. "He was just very clear that if I still thought of you the way I used to, I was unaware of all you'd done to change yourself for the better. And yes, some of his other statements alluded to the fact that you perhaps fancied me."

Malfoy buried his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. "Well, thank you for not laughing about it to my face, anyway."

"Why would I do that?"

Malfoy snorted. "Don't play stupid, Potter. I'm aware I'm a selfish prat. Why in Merlin's name would you find the fact that I fancy you anything other than laughable? What do you think I meant that day I tried to quit, when I called myself a masochist? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to come in and try to be professional around the person you have a ridiculous, illogical, incredibly hopeless crush on? Especially when you're certain they're just waiting for the right moment to arrest you for something you didn't do?"

"No, I can't say I do," Harry said after a moment, replaying all the times Malfoy had jumped when Harry touched him or moved closer, thinking about how he'd been so wrong in interpreting all of those flinches and exasperated sighs and frustrated noises. "But I do know one thing."

"And what's that?"

"Most selfish prats — the ones who really fit that category, anyway — don't go and buy their parents quiet, private cottages, then turn around and donate ridiculously large sums of money to various charities."

Lifting his head out of his hands, Malfoy looked directly at Harry. "So, you did your research."

"I did."

"Surprised?"

"You could say that. I think it may have made me realise something."

"What's that?"

"I did hear what you said last night, by the way, about why you kept the Hand of Glory. And that, plus the things I found today, made me think that the sort of person who was willing to do that, to try so hard to change from the person they used to be, to improve who they were, might be a person I'd like to get to know better."

"Oh?"

Harry put his hand over Malfoy's, which rested limply on his bent knee. "Yeah."

Malfoy swallowed beside him, the sound quite audible. "How much better?"

Grinning, Harry angled himself closer. "A lot better. Let's just say I'm open to trying a few new things, myself." Malfoy's eyes were wide and Harry took the chance, tilting his face in order to be able to meet Malfoy's mouth with his own, just the softest experimental brush of lips. When Malfoy moaned with a breathy, surprised sound, opening his mouth and pressing closer, Harry hummed his encouragement, letting his tongue meet Malfoy's, relishing the way they slid together, the feeling of Malfoy's energy mixing with his. He pulled away slowly, smiling at Malfoy's dazed expression. "Yeah. I'm definitely ready to change some things."

Malfoy laughed, his eyes bright, and pulled Harry in for another kiss, slow and gentle.

It was nothing like Harry would have expected. But it was very much like something he wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/106048.html).


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